Makar Sankrant

This is not a post about what Makar Sankranti festival is all about. This is about what Makar Sankranti was to me.

I grew up in Nashik so the first thing that reminds me of Makar Sankranti is the kites. We used to start flying kites from December onwards and on this day the sky would be so full of kites that you could hardly make out that it’s blue. We had only one guy in my building and rest all 10-12 girls. I remember I used to be his crony for holding his chakri while he flies the kites. He taught me how to tie a thread to the kite, in a fashion known as ‘Mangalsutra’. I always wondered why we would call it ‘mangalsutra’. Obviously the analogy of the thread being tied to a kite, which was essential for the kite to fly high was attributed to the holy bonds of matrimony.

Kite flying was more competitive that even our exams. We used to get together on our building terrace and there used to be a huge competition on who cuts other’s kites. We used to should till our voices became hoarse and till it becomes so dark that you can’t see the sky at all!

I never learnt how to fly a kite. I was always the ‘chakri’ bearer.  Even when a group of college friends started flying kites, all I could get was to hold the kite for either soaring it high above or getting to hold it for 3 minutes when the kite was high in the air. For those 3 minutes, I would be ready to run around to fetch the fallen kites, get more thread, hold the kite tight and leave it in the air so that someone can fly it higher and what not.

As if the entire day spent like vagabounds was not enough, we would take a 180 degree turn in the evening. Evenings were for visiting friends and families, dressed in best clothes and eating as much of til gul as possible. It was also an occasion to eat all sweets in plenty. Inni and my mom would make ladoos and gul poli and all the sweets and I would actually get a scolding for eating too much of sweets by the time it was evening.

While I sit at my desk and write a blog remembering old times I feel fatigued. Somewhere in the race to make a living for myself I am missing out on all these things. This feeling does not come frequently, it’s days like these, when I should technically be outside shouting on top of my voice and flying kites, meeting relatives and eating sweets till I can stuff up no more, that’s the time I realize that I am not going anywhere. I am at my desk. Trying to work, imagining all my friends who are flying kites. Yet, I know, none of my friends are out there. They are all inside, making an honest day’s living, no sweating in the heat, no sore throats, no red eyes and no frolicking around.

We are what we chose to be and I chose to sit in the office and dream about the sky filled with kites outside!  

My best friend's wedding

This is an essay on the topic: My Best Friend - Shweta

My best friend's name is Shweta. I met her in college, when I met a lot of people who stayed on with me for life. Shweta is one of those. We belong to a group of people who are together for more than 10 years now and still solid as a rock for each other. But, that's not what I wanna write about.

I want to talk about Shweta, or Tevta, as I call her. I don't know where to start from. I don't remember the day I met her in college, I am not like that. What I do remember is from day 1, Shweta and I were inseparable. We were a bunch of teens back then, silly, crazy and a little weird. We have had our share of fights too. I was too outspoken for my own good, and she was too tolerant for hers. There was a time when we were not even speaking for almost 6-7 months. I don't want to remember the time, however I know that we were always meant to be together.

Even today, I can sense her mood from the tone of her voice. I am her support system and she is mine. I go to her with my problems and she advises me. She was most understanding when I couldn't give her time after I got married. Needless to say, we survived due to endless long phone conversations.

We like spending time with each other. We do things for each other. I am her mom's favorite and my mom adores her. She was the first one to see Ira in the hospital. Even before I laid my eyes on my bundle of joy. She knows when I am going to cry and tells me to stop immediately. She is afraid of cows. I can't even remember the number of times she has cried because we "accidently" put her close to a cow. She is as fond of eating as I am. We used to constantly spend our pocket money on eating out. She still picks me and drops me whenever I go to Nashik, without complaining once.

Why am I remembering all this today? Shweta is getting married next week. She is getting married to a wonderful guy, from our own group and is on her way to marital bliss. I couldn't have been more happy. And yet, somehow the feeling of losing one's best friend is not going away. I know I won't really lose her. She will be in the same city, I will be able to meet her and talk to here often. It's just that a lot of things change.

This is not a sob story. I have seen Shweta struggle for happiness. I am overwhelmed with joy at her getting married to Pankaj. I have no words of wisdom for her. She was the wise one, always. She knows how to perfectly deal with everything. She has patience, which I have not. Her wisdom is natural, mine is hard-earned. She is gentle and I am rude and harsh. She is a comfort blanket and I am a constantly erupting volcano. We are exact opposites in some cases and yet mind readers when it comes to each other.

I will miss my best friend. I will miss my soul mate :)

Home

"The places where you were the happiest are your favorite places after all" ~ Unknown

After a long time I went to my home town and stayed at my mom's place for 4 days. I go there often but I rarely stay so long. This time, I not only stayed for 4 days, I slept, ate and literally spent time alone in the house after so long. It surely opened a box of memories.

We moved in that place when I was 6 years old and I moved out when I was almost 25. I spent more that 20 blissful years in that house. I always tell my mother that even if I meet her often, I crave to stay and meet the house. It's a place where I have been most happy. 

It's a place where I started my school. It's a place where my friends would come over to play. It's a place where I and my sister used to fight over small things. It's a place where the bedroom was always occupied by my sister and granny so much so that even when both of them are not around, I and my mom still sleep in the hall. The hall was 'our' territory. Over the years, so many things changed in that house, the color of the rooms, the furniture, the people living in the house but the warmth is still there.

I love my home. I love to be alone at home. I never feel lonely when I am at my home. I am always at peace when I am at my mom's home. We have had an awesome childhood in that home. My home was closest to my college. A working mother ensured that the house was empty from 10-6 everyday and so my house was the first place we would hang out after college. We have had many fights, discussions, debates, and random weird activities in the house. 

It's a place where my darling little niece is born. It's a place from where I got married. It's a place where my kids will be born someday and like Ira, I hope they also look forward to visiting the home every vacation. 

Some places are always special to us. My home is one such place where I am the happiest person of all.

Rain!

When I was a kid, for essay writing, I used to always write about rainy season as my favorite.  This is an essay on the same rain, maybe with a difference.


As a kid, rainy season was all about making paper boats, wearing raincoats with cartoons on it, playing in the rain when Mom wasn't around (Inni used to let me get drenched in the rains only on one condition - I wipe my head thoroughly after that).  I still remember walking back from school in rains, without wearing a raincoat, getting drenched to the core and getting a good scolding from my neighborhood aunty had scolded me (Yes, in those days your neighbor aunty could scold you as much as your parents and your mom wouldn't feel offended). Rainy season was a time for wet socks in the school; dripping roofs, which we did not mind at all; being wet all the time, and just the beginning of school. I used to love rain for all these reasons and many more. I don't remember everything but I do know, I loved playing in the rain more than any of my friends. I welcomed rain with more joy than anyone else.


Then came college. A rainy day meant bunked classes, impromptu treks. Fighting with a friend on an unused pipe, while the rain comes pouring in, holding hands on picnics, playing pranks on each other. Rain meant messy clothes, messy hair, but who cared. Rain meant going to Pandavleni (again!) and staying over at friend's place last minute. Rain meant the entire group hanging out, getting wet, and then going to a friend's place to dry clothes, rain meant using iron to dry clothes and hanging more strings in the house to dry clothes. Rain meant new opportunities to be with someone you liked. Rain meant bike trips, rain meant slipping on the road while walking. Rain meant separation from a loved one as he/she went for another course, another job away from home.

Ah! And today, a rainy day is for sitting in office with all these memories, getting headaches because of the AC and the closed environment. A rainy day is clicking photos from the phone, through the office window, and wishing I was outside.